


seabound shrine

by antagonists



Category: Tekken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 23:31:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11679375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antagonists/pseuds/antagonists
Summary: Springtime brings reedy voices of prayer and the beat of ritual drums. Upon the edge of shore, Hwoarang turns his eyes away from land and listens to the sea.





	seabound shrine

 

* * *

 

 

Jindo sees more rain late in the summer, but that is still several moons away. Hwoarang does not like blindingly sunny days. The fish do not bite. The imugi will not visit.

 

It is raining this morning. He sits within the shelter of an offshore cave, watching as the tides foam into dizzying white and back to darkness. The full moon is tonight and if he weren’t perched on the highest point he could find nearby, the high waters would claim him. He has almost drowned in this same cave before as a little boy.

 

His savior does not live here anymore; it has grown too large for a space so cramped, and he remembers helping it move out to the sea.

 

Near midday, another large ship breaks apart in the strait’s ruthless tides, and broken wood and rope litter the sands near his village. Hwoarang considers joining the recovery efforts, but finds himself skirting around the fussing ladies who would surely drag him into other errands. Instead he treks east, finding himself another place to set sail and fish for a while.

 

The skies are still overcast, and the sea still a bit rough; it is warm enough that he does not shiver when seawater splashes onto his bared arms. When something bumps against the side of his small boat, he pauses before reaching into his rucksack, tugging out a strip of dried meat. He dangles it over the side of the boat and the water stills a moment before seeming to swell upwards, breaking over the sleek head of a pale imugi. It nips at his fingers to swallow the jerky and falls back into the sea.

 

They are merely curious—not entirely kind, but not unkind. Humanly sentiment comes only after swallowing a falling star, after all. A small taste of heaven and the power of the sky.

 

He falls asleep under the heavy clouds, listening to the far-off storm. He dreams that Sohae visits him, rearing their scarred head over the boat to guard him in his sleep. When he wakes, though, the sea is oddly calm and the air is chilly. He looks out to the waters and sees dread looking back.

 

“I was wondering where all the imugi were flocking to,” a creature says, sitting at the other end of the boat, all ghostly glowing eyes and sharp teeth in a formless mist.

 

At Hwoarang’s confused stare, it grins wider, reminding him a lot of the abyssal creatures from word-of-mouth stories. The fog condenses and within seconds, what had been a beast appears as a simple man in simple robes. The skin is dark, almost like midnight, but shimmers into more of an acceptable hue; needle-like teeth shorten and grow dull. Still, a smile of steel—still, a ghost of the sea.

 

“You’re scaring the fish off,” Hwoarang finds himself saying, knowing full well he should be terrified. He has heard from the storyteller in his village about sailors or other unfortunate souls taken by the sea, spun into vengeful and hungry spirits. He knows the fear in drowning—the cold and the fear and the feeling of his heart in his throat, hands around his neck. Perhaps he is in some ways more sympathetic than he should be.

 

The man tilts his head curiously. Yet as human as his appearance may be, his eyes still look like squall and terror: frothing, awful white.

 

“I’m being serious,” Hwoarang says. “Your being here isn’t doing it for the fish. Or the sea in general.”

 

He stiffens when the creature moves in close. The palm on Hwoarang’s chest is colder than ice. He is hyperaware of how his pulse races even though he holds his breath, not daring to move lest his heart find a new home in this stranger’s hand. It feels like an aeon before the weight comes off his chest, and he sucks in air so quickly he almost chokes, unable to rid of the memory of eyes burning spells into his skin.

 

“You reek of dragon,” is the simple, displeased conclusion. “Sold your soul to the sea, did you?”

 

“Shut up,” Hwoarang huffs, unable to think about anything but how that touch had felt like death and nothingness and everything in between. “Go away. I don’t want you here.”

 

He does not quite expect the creature to listen, but when he blinks, the sea is no longer a quiet mirror, as though it had never been in the first place. Sunset streaks across the sky in ruddy colors and light. He looks over his shoulder and sees he has drifted too far from the shore. Sohae still hasn’t visited.

 

With a curse he starts paddling back. The sky is completely barren of clouds when he finally steps into the village, glittering instead with sinister silver and kinder stars.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You seem unwell, Hwoarang,” Yoonsoo says. He looks at the physician-in-training, how her eyes droop with lack of sleep, her hands dark with bruises. Her parents do not want her to follow a doctor’s path. A man’s job, a man’s life, they say.

 

“You seem to be in the same boat, Yoonsoo,” Hwoarang replies, and they share a small snicker.

 

“The sailors from yesterday are doing well,” she continues, chiding him from not stopping by to help the recovery efforts. Her movements are practiced as she grinds herbs into paste, the sound of mortar and pestle a calming rhythm. She stows her medical efforts in his hut, knowing full well her parents would rid of them. He often smells of sage and herbs more than he would like. “We could have used some extra help.”

 

He swears when his hand slips, smearing ink over the unfinished talisman. He gives the failed attempt a disappointed glare. Ever since he came ashore last night, his hands haven’t been very steady.

 

“This will help with the tremors,” Yoonsoo says, pressing the parcel of medicine into his hands when she leaves. “Don’t have any soju in the meantime. If I find out that you had a drink while on duty again I _will_ smack you.”

 

Sunrise is liquid gold across the horizon. It spills slower than honey that the village children bring back from the forest, sweet and warm. Still too bright.

 

It is a long day of waiting out with the other fishers. They have never had spectacular hauls mid-spring, but there could always stand to be more fish than less of them. Cloud cover is sparse, shrouding them in shadow every once in a while before exposing them once more to light. Hwoarang tries not to think about how he is shivering so much; he is not used to feeling so cold all the time. He wants to blame it on lack of good rest, but he knows the real reason.

 

He visits the cave later in the afternoon, exhausted from tugging in heavy nets and rowing all day. The moon is waning now, so the water is not as high as it could be. This cave is only accessible during high tides, so he gazes at it from a distance, thinking that its jagged opening looks a lot like a sea creature’s gaping maw.

 

Tomorrow, he will head east again. Other imugi have passed by whenever he sails alone, but only some of them are familiar. It has been half a moon since Sohae last visited him, when it had been dark and rainy and an especially miserable night. It had not been the first time he has spent a night in stormy seas.

 

He falls asleep at sea more than he does in his bed anyways. Hwoarang opens his mouth, and he swallows the rain.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They always have these seasonal rites full of incense and prayer, brimming with traditions Hwoarang has never cared much for. He takes off before other villagers can stop by his home and ask if he is attending. Waking up early has never been something he has enjoyed doing, but he has gotten good at it.

 

The waters are warmer now, and as he presses further off the shore, he hears deep drums in the distance. The sound is dissonant, similar to the uneasy beginnings of a ship in water. He is sure that the villagers have already made bonfires, ones tall and strong enough to blaze as bright as sunlight and for just as long. Soon the worshipping will start, loud and fervent. He does not like it—does not like prayers and the smell of smoke.

 

Hwoarang casts his net over the side of the boat, but does not pay much attention to it. He stares out at the water and the sunlight scattered into shards over its surface. Something nudges at the boat, and he sighs, reaching for his bag, but freezes when the fog sets in.

 

“You are not with the others,” the man says, having adopted the human form once more. He sits across from Hwoarang like before, on the edge of the boat with feet dangling in the water. It is a wonder the boat does not capsize, but Hwoarang has quickly learned that reality is not quite _right_ with the creature around. Water, for one, doesn’t move. The sky is but a grey eternity though it had been sunny earlier—and he can no longer hear the drums.

 

“It’s noisy,” he says. “And I’ll smell like fire and rice wine for an entire week.”

 

The creature considers him for a long moment, piercing gaze like moonlight. “You’re wearing a talisman?”

 

Hwoarang flinches. He had hoped it would help, but spirits and the otherworld are not his expertise. This seems to amuse the creature, and though its form is human, there are a hundred things unsettling about its small smile.

 

“What are you?” Hwoarang asks.

 

“If only I knew,” is the response. “But perhaps we are not so different.”

 

When all Hwoarang offers is a blank stare, the creature sighs.

 

“When I was human,” he says. “They called me Jin.”

 

Hwoarang reaches into the still water, finds that it does not ripple even at his touch, and pulls his hand back, disturbed. It is like reaching into an endless well of black ink. He gives the creature a better look. Perhaps if he did not look half-drowned or have those unnerving eyes, it would be easier to pretend he is just speaking to some man.

 

“I don’t think we’re alike,” Hwoarang says.

 

“The sea almost claimed you, once,” Jin says. “You are not entirely your own.”

 

“That’s none of your business,” he retorts. _This again_. Memories of cruel tides and white fingers around his throat, his breath lost to the depths. “We aren’t anything alike.”

 

He startles when Jin presses a cold hand to his chest again, but refuses to back away. It is as though ice clutches at him, but finds the human heart too warm and eventually melts away. He releases the breath he had been holding and watches Jin turn his hand curiously this way and that. On his skin is a deep burn in the shape of the spell Hwoarang had written, seeming to flake into white, into vague emptiness.

 

“Find me when the tides are at their lowest,” Jin finally says, standing on the edge of the boat. Before Hwoarang can say anything, he takes one step into the sea and dissolves into dark mist. Ash flutters onto the water’s surface, soon to sink.

 

He sits for a few minutes, equal parts confused and concerned.

 

It could not have been more than an hour since he left the shore, but the sun is already setting, fiery and warm through the lingering chill. He hoists the net back onto the boat, concentrating on the feel of rope in his hands. He is unsurprised to see that it is empty.

 

* * *

 

 

Sohae visits him on the night before a new moon. Scales shimmer brighter than night stars, and Hwoarang takes comfort in knowing that the seas have not abandoned him.

 

“I think I’m having a bad dream,” he says, to which the imugi nudges his head with its snout. Sohae cannot answer, of course, but he likes to imagine they can.

 

He sleeps easier that night, a lone boy between galaxy and abyss. In his dream, he treads dark sand, following a soul lost to storm and sea.

 

It is as though he is walking on water.

 

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> feat. hwoarang as a fishing village boy. in this setting he’s from [jindo](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jindo_\(island\)), an island of two famous for [sea partings](http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2013/13/130426-jindo-sea-parting-festival-korea-red-tides-science-moses/), and friend(?) of lesser dragon [imugi](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Korean_dragon)  
> and jin is inspired by but not true to [umibozu](http://yokai.com/umibouzu/) and [funa-yurei](http://yokai.com/funayuurei/)  
> sohae -> 小海 -> little sea
> 
> [jindo images](http://www.jindo.go.kr/themes/tour/images/content/info07_06.jpg)


End file.
